


Asking

by skatzaa



Series: Gabriel [3]
Category: The Scorpio Races - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gabe Connolly POV, Gen, Post-Festival, The Black Eyed Girl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2017-09-17
Packaged: 2018-12-30 20:23:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12116538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skatzaa/pseuds/skatzaa
Summary: Tommy, Beech, and Gabe spend another evening at the pub.





	Asking

**Author's Note:**

> Fun reminder: Gabe, as a narrator, is unreliable as fuck.
> 
> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

GABE

We’re in the Black-Eyed Girl again, Tommy and Beech and I. Tommy has already been to the parade and come back, and Beech got off his shift at the shop over an hour ago, and I never left the pub, which is all to say that we need more to drink but none of us want to stand to get it. 

Tommy is favoring his first finger on his right hand, playing up the injury by batting his eyelashes and pretending to wince. I want to snap at him that it’s his own damn fault for deciding to race, that a prick on the finger seems too low of a price to pay when he’s going out of his way to risk his life, but it sounds too similar to Puck’s lecture from earlier this evening. This last thing I need is to be accused of being hysterical. 

Beech sighs one time too many, and I consider pushing myself up with the help of the table to get the drinks myself, if he’s going to complain about it. But then I decide that he can buy the round for once, since he actually gets paid the best of the three of us. Tommy works primarily for his father, on the fishing boat, and I’ve been stuck begging for whatever chores people are willing to pay me to do for the last year. Neither of those things makes for much of a lined pocket. 

But not for long. In a few weeks time, we’ll be on the mainland, and I won’t ever have to gut another fish again, unless I choose to for my own dinner. 

Beech finally takes the hint and grunts his way into a standing position, shooting us both a dirty look as he turns. The pub is unusually busy tonight because of the festival, which means he’ll have to go all the way to the bar to get any drinks, which is just what I was hoping for, because I have one more thing to ask of Tommy, as if I haven’t asked enough of him. 

He’s sucking on his finger now, still playing the act of the injured war hero to anyone who is looking, but no one but me is looking, and I’m at just the right angle to see the way his light eyes flash under his eyelashes as he meets my gaze. 

I stare into my empty pint glass instead, because that seems safer than being pulled into the old ways we used to dance around each other in public, daring one another to do something that _could_ get us caught but wouldn’t, if we were careful enough. I don’t understand _why_ he’s doing this now; it’s been months since he walked into the Gratton’s kitchen with a smile on his face and walked out with no expression at all. I don’t know if it’s the drink, or if he’s simply high on the knowledge that he has signed his life away once more to the whims of the _capaill_ and the sea, each as dangerous as the other. 

I stare into my glass and I hate him, a little. But not as much as I hate myself for doing this. 

“Tommy,” I say. “I need you and some of the other men to try and scare Kate out of racing.” 

The pub has been loud tonight, still is, though the festival is technically over, but we’re tucked far away enough in the back that I should be able to hear anything Tommy says, no matter how quiet. But he doesn’t make a sound. 

When I look up again, his finger is no longer in his mouth. Instead, his hands are in his lap, and his face seems like it can’t decide whether to be amused, incredulous, or disgusted. All are valid reactions, of course, but they aren’t reassuring from my side of things. 

“You want me to do what?” he asks. 

I blink and, without meaning to, flick my eyes up to look at him. His face has settled firmly on displeased, and I have to glance away again. 

I knew it was a long shot, when I came up with this idea, but if Puck wouldn’t listen to Peg, someone she generally respects, I figured the only alternative was to change her mind for her. If Puck believes Dove is in danger, that, at least, should be enough to convince her to stop racing, and the only thing that will convince her of that is the _capaill_ and their riders. And then I won’t have to live with the guilt of my sister’s death on my conscience, on top of everything else that I bear, willingly and unwillingly. 

Tommy makes a sound low in his throat, like he’s given up. Like he’s about to give in. “What were you considering?” 

I do my best to tell him before Beech wanders back, glancing over my shoulder all the while for wayward sisters and anyone else who might be eavesdropping. I see neither of those, but I do make eye contact with Brian Carroll, a fisherman Puck’s age that I don’t know well enough to reasonably deserve the look he is sending my way. 

Beech appears just as I finish, three pints clutched in his hands, but Tommy motions him away so he can shove his way out of the booth before Beech attempts to sit. He does so and then looks at me, his expression as flat as it was in the Grattons’ kitchen. He says, “I’ll help you, but I won’t be happy about it.” 

Tommy turns and hesitates, then turns back long enough to pluck one of the pints out of Beech’s grasp and add, “And I’ll be there to make sure nothing goes wrong.” 

I nod at his back as he leaves for another table of young men like us, who are drinking away their night and their pay. But unlike Beech and I, all of them at the table are also riders in the races, and they welcome Tommy with boisterous shouts when he joins them. 

Beech takes a sip of his drink, face expressionless in a way entirely unlike Tommy’s lack of emotions. 

“What was that about?” he asks, but it’s not demanding. Beech very rarely is, which makes him an oddity on an island full of islanders who like nothing more than to force their opinions onto you over your own, because they believe theirs are better. I am very thankful for this trait of his, right at this moment, because it means I can lie and only feel slightly guilty for it. 

“Nothing,” I say. “He’s just doing me a favor.” 

I hope it works, that the men agree to it and Puck isn’t stupidly brave about this one thing and I won’t have to watch my sister die on the first of November. Watching Tommy race will be bad enough, but there is no swaying him from his course once it is set. Puck, at least, I can still help in this way. 

I take a sip of my drink. It’s lukewarm, but better than nothing.

**Author's Note:**

> Am I implying that Gabe was two-timing Tommy and Peg? I guess that's up for you to decide. ~~jk I totally am.~~
> 
> The next one is already written; it just needs to be cleaned up before I can post it, but you can expect it to be up within the next week, I think. Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> Read On,  
> Skats


End file.
